


Atisha

by CrackingLamb



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Aftercare, Angst, Bondage, Dom/sub, Established consent, Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Safewords, Solavellan Hell, Swearing, Y'all This Is Straight Up Sad PWP Using Magic, negotiated boundaries, post-Crestwood Breakup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:27:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25149943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrackingLamb/pseuds/CrackingLamb
Summary: Atisha - peace, an end to conflict.  Fragile, precious and potentially devastating.
Relationships: Female Lavellan/Solas
Comments: 15
Kudos: 58





	Atisha

**Author's Note:**

> I've been dealing with some real life stuff, and Lamb purges ugly emotions by writing ill considered, fairly unhealthy porn. I make no apologies, it's a more creative coping mechanism than violence imo. This is a rare unhappy ending from me, and for that I _am _sorry. Still, enjoy, ya thirsty heathens. I love you all.__

“What do you need of me, Inquisitor?”

His voice rolled soft and gentle, no hint of displeasure or censure. But he wouldn't meet her eyes. It had been a week since his sudden and complete withdrawal from their relationship, and she felt the toll. Not just in body but in mind. There were some things only Solas could give her, and they both knew it. The only question was whether or not he was feeling the same toll as she was.

“I need...help.”

His head snapped up from the assorted papers on his desk in the center of the rotunda. He recognized that pleading tone. The gray blue of his eyes was lost for a moment as his pupils blew wide, but he recovered quickly, looked away and clasped his hands behind his back. It was so unconsciously done, but he must remember that it was her favorite stance. She bit her lip to keep from making a sound.

“That is not a good idea.”

“Please. I can't...” His eyes met hers again, and there, _there_ was the bottomless well of hurt. It made her ache anew. Why had he done this? It was obvious he hadn't _wanted_ to end their relationship. She pushed back her shoulders, trying for dignity with this wholly undignified request. “I can't go to Iron Bull. I don't trust him like I trust you.”

For an instant his shoulders slumped and his face crumpled. They stood on opposite sides of the desk, candles and papers and this raw wound between them. She wanted to run away, but she didn't. She could face down hordes of Red Templars, demons and the Fade itself. She could face her former lover and ask him to help her one last time.

“Please. I need to...”

“I know what you need.” His voice was clipped, jagged. For all his steady stance, she could see strain in his arms as he held his hands hidden from her. She would bet Orlesian gold that behind his back his fingers were white from gripping each other and his nails were digging crescents into his skin. He faced her squarely, a mask of blankness molding his features into the most neutral arrangement he could make. His expression was always the most passive when he had the most to hide. “I cannot be the one to help you anymore.”

A tear slipped past her lids without her permission. She nodded. “I understand. Forgive me.”

She turned and started to walk away from him, each step harder than the last. She heard a sound, almost like a sob, and dared to peek over her shoulder from the shadows of the connecting hallway between this once sacred space and the Great Hall. Solas was leaning over his desk, head hanging, fingers digging into the wood. She turned away and left before he realized she was still there.

Once she was back in her chamber, the feeling gnawed at her. Worry about the next fight, strain from leading countless men to their deaths, fear that she wasn't enough, would never be enough. The knowledge that they were vulnerable at this moment when the bulk of her army was still returning from the Arbor Wilds. Panic at the thought of having to once more don the mantle of Inquisitor, the most powerful person in Thedas, when she was just a Dalish First.

She needed to have the reins taken from her, just for a while, just long enough to leave her utterly in the hands of someone else's control for the space of a breath. Where she didn't have to make decisions, or roll the dice with lives instead of coin. She needed someone who cared enough about her to keep her safe. She needed to release a torrent of emotion and anguish from her body, purging it of doubt.

He had taught her that. And it worked. Once she'd learned to relinquish control to him, she was stronger for it. And she needed to be strong now, knowing what was inevitably coming. But he had spurned her; she'd have to find another way to be strong.

There was a knock on her door, startling her from her racing thoughts. She looked through the closed glass doors of the balcony and saw that it was late. The castle was abed, save whoever was knocking. She schooled her expression into one of calm and answered.

“I have reconsidered,” Solas said without preamble, looking over her shoulder at the detritus piled on the stairs. “I would not have you distracted from this fight.”

“Solas...are you certain?”

His head turned and he met her gaze. It was steady and dispassionate, but a fire burned at the center of it. “I cannot give you what you want of me,” he whispered, and the sound of it made her heart break all over again. Tears pricked her eyes. “But I can give you what you need to finish this.”

She stepped back and let him in. She felt strange in her skin now that he was here. She very nearly didn't want to go through with it, but the thought of having anyone else do this for her was too much to bear. She followed him into the chamber, where he was building up the fire so it filled the space with heat. She stood in the center of the wide room and watched him there, his hands gracefully coaxing the flames higher with a touch of magic. Given her state, it was no surprise she hadn't been able to do that herself.

When he straightened up, he turned to face her, his mouth set in a straight line and his brows drawn tight over his eyes. “We must have new rules.”

“All right,” she agreed, already lost in the sound of his voice, in his presence here where so many happy hours had been spent.

“I do not have it in me to push you to your limits, vhenan. I will not touch you that way tonight.” He'd slipped, they both heard it. But she just nodded, ready to agree to anything as long as she could unburden herself on him. “I will take no pleasure from you.”

Her eyes shot wide and she felt herself take a step towards him before she could stop herself. “But...”

His expression was implacable. “It is not fair, or worthy of me, to use you thus. This is for you, to ground your spirit and release your need. No more.”

“Ma nuvenin,” she said softly.

“Do you wish to keep 'atisha'?

“Yes,” she breathed, hardly daring to believe it was actually going to happen. That she would get alleviation of all her troubles. At least for now.

“Do you wish to see or not?”

He had never asked that one before, but then again, their situation had changed. She wondered why this was part of it, though. Was it so she would not see his face as he forced control from her? Or was it so he would not see hers? “You may blindfold me if you wish,” she said.

“It is not about what I wish.”

She couldn't help it, she smirked at him. “Yes it is. At this moment it is.”

A faint smile echoed back to her and he inclined his head. “So be it.” He stood taller, straighter and tucked his hands behind his back. The subtle change in posture reached his face and his features turned stony. Her body was shot through with anticipation. When he spoke, it was crisp and commanding. “Strip and kneel.”

A flood of relief went through her and her fingers trembled on the buttons of her tunic. She nearly tore them in her haste. His silence did not help matters. When she glanced at him, she saw that he was folding a strip of linen in half, his back to her. She took a deep breath and finished undressing, then knelt on the rug close enough to the hearth to feel the heat of the fire he'd built.

“Close your eyes,” he said, appearing next to her. She was so skittish that she jumped and he waited until she had calmed herself before draping the blindfold around her head. He tied it off neatly, barely brushing his fingers in her hair. In the dark inside her head she felt a maelstrom of need and energy, buzzing like the Veil on her skin when she cast. It masked the near silent sweep of his feet and he walked past her to settle on the sofa near the stairs. “I will begin.”

She nodded jerkily and waited.

Coils of magic wound around her arms and legs and she drew in a sharp breath. His magic was cool but crackling, a reflection of his studies of the storm. Like rope, the coils tightened around her until she couldn't move. Now she could hear herself breathing too fast, panting. The coils tightened further and one snaked around her throat, forcing her to tip back her head in order to breathe comfortably. It forced her arms back, jutting out her breasts. Her nipples hardened until they ached and her face burned. Now she knew why he asked if she preferred to be blindfolded. Humiliation had _never_ been part of the play, for either of them. Meeting his eyes like this, at his mercy yet shut out from his heart, would have been too much.

The sound of cloth shifting caught her ear. He was moving around on the sofa, too distant for her to tell how.

“Breathe,” he said presently.

“Are you just going to hold me here?” she managed to ask, turning her head so her ear was pointed at him where he sat.

“No. But the relief you crave will not come to you if you expire before I can give it.”

The words were slow and measured. And warm. He was not as unaffected as he would like to be. She didn't know if that made her happy or more sad. She took a controlled breath and let it out as if they were doing nothing more than sparring.

“Good girl,” he praised and before she could so much as think about smiling in response, a tongue of magic slid across both nipples simultaneously, wrapping around them like thread. She whined and they tightened almost unbearably. Her body wanted to writhe against the touch, but he had bound her too tight. He exerted so little casual magic, even in this. She was shocked that he had such finesse over it and the thought that he could have done this to her at any time in the last year was enough to make her gasp. The pressure released on her breasts and she heaved for air like she'd been running. Sweat broke out in prickles all over her body.

The relief was short-lived. Before she caught her breath, the magic touch returned, now between her legs, sliding between her folds and wrapping around her clit with the same intensity as it had around her nipples. The sound that came out of her was more moan than whine this time. Again the magic tightened on her flesh, squeezing until she thought she might scream. She could barely squirm in his magical grasp and when he finally relented, she gasped for air once more, sure that she would fall forward on her face.

But she did not. He had bound her, but he also supported her. She let her body relax into it, let him take the tangible weight of her in his ephemeral grip. She breathed steadily through her nose, slowing her racing heart. It had been too long, and as yet he had not even laid a finger on her.

“Solas...?”

“Yes, Inquisitor?”

She made a face behind the blindfold. Calling her by her title took her out of the moment, brought reality too close. “Don't call me that.”

“It is who you are now.” There was a challenge in his voice. Choosing to call her that was part of the game. If she wanted him to stop, she would have to stop the whole thing. She pouted.

“Are you even going to touch me?”

“I _am_ touching you, Inquisitor.” The magic splayed across her belly like fingers, cool and pressing into her skin. She could feel it as readily as if his hand was actually there. She knew it was not; she could tell by his voice how far away he was on the sofa. “This magic is as much a part of me as it is a part of you.”

“It's not the same,” she complained. For a brief moment he chuckled.

“Would you batter us both against the things we cannot have?”

“You made this decision, Solas. Not I. You are the one who...”

She choked off her words as the magic pulled at her nipples, tugging them hard enough to sting. Tendrils traced against her skin and when the touch eased, she could still feel something there. Weightless and cool, but present. _A sigil writ in mana_ , she thought.

“Enough fighting, Inquisitor.” He paused for a moment and she heard him take a ragged breath. “Someday you will understand.”

The sigil began to pulse, opposite to her heartbeat. With each beat, the tugging grew stronger. Not painful, but constant. She wriggled in her bonds, trying to escape it. Of course, it was to no avail. The sigil was imprinted on her skin, as if he'd written there with his own fingers. It moved with her, the rhythm matching her pulse. She would have to slow her own heart to make it stop.

The coils of magic around her legs tightened, making her spread wider, allowing him access to her heat. She could feel her own slick as her folds shifted with her legs and she suppressed a moan. His magic rubbed her there, sliding against her, weaving and dipping in an endless cycle, never giving her what she wanted while always winding her up for more. The magic turned cold abruptly, dousing her heat with ice and she hissed.

And his breath caught across the room. She smiled, nearly triumphant. It was always a battle of wills, this game. Who would break first?

The magic filled her, icy cold and thick, pressing against the walls of her channel. She slumped forward, arching her back, trying and failing to either relieve the partially seated pressure or push it deeper. It was not enough and she could hear herself grunting as she tried to move the blunt thrust of magic inside her. The sigil on her chest picked up speed and her nipples stung. She cried out then, so close and yet so unfulfilled.

She had no way to track time unless she counted the beats of her heart. But that was unreliable, as racing as it was. The fire crackled, but that didn't tell her anything either. Her knees didn't even burn from the carpet beneath her, he supported her weight so entirely. If he wanted, he could lift her right off the floor, she assumed. It was an exciting thought. One that was dashed when she remembered they would not be doing this again.

Her moans turned to whimpers and tears leaked from her eyes behind the blindfold. She'd been a fool to ask this of him. She should have gone to Bull, where no emotion could intrude. Her misery turned to anger and she shivered in her bonds.

“Are you all right, Inquisitor?”

“I want you stop calling me that, and I want you to fuck me properly. To the Void with your promise,” she snarled, hardly aware of the words as they poured out of her.

The magic slid deeper, hitting the back of her pelvic bone at the same time a flick of it hit her clit. It spread out like a tongue, covering the nub and sparking against it. The shock was enough to send her rigid, hissing breaths between her teeth.

“I'm afraid I can't do that,” he said. But there was something else under his words. A tone of sorrow. He wanted to.

“Fuck you,” she gasped out. The anger was fueling her now, and she struggled to free herself so she could rip off this blindfold and make him face her. The coils grew tighter around her arms and legs as if he could see her thoughts like words, telegraphed by her writhing motions. A new sigil drew itself on her, coating her clit in gentle shockwaves. The magic withdrew from her body, leaving her empty and unsated as the sparks reverberated into her pelvis. Her climax was rising, an unstoppable tide with the constant stimulation. But it wasn't the kind she wanted.

She hovered on the edge of it, hollow and needy. All at once the magic grew still on her entire body, both sigils erased. She sobbed aloud. Frustration or relief?

“Dread Wolf take you, Solas,” she shouted.

He chuckled mirthlessly. “In due time, Inquisitor.”

There was pain bleeding into his words, she noted as she heaved against the coils holding her in place. Whatever else happened, he felt for her still. But it was not enough to take the place of whatever it was that caused him to break things off with her.

“Why?” she asked numbly, sagging into his magic, trusting it to hold her there.

“Because I made a selfish mistake,” he answered. “You deserve better than one such as me.”

“But I love you!”

“I know. Another stone to add to my mountain of regrets.” His voice was broken and she was wrenched from the fantasy and back into reality.

“Damn you, Solas. Atisha.” The magic had already stopped, all of it, save what was holding her upright. She could feel his waiting presence. It was hardly the first time she'd used the word to end their games. Usually they would take a moment to reassess, to communicate and get back on track. Not this time. Her body was wracked with shudders, helpless twitches that made her teeth chatter. She had been so close! She breathed deep, took advantage of the silence to ground herself. When her head was clear, she growled, “Finish it.”

“Ma nuvenin.”

He began again, starting from the beginning and she wept as the cycle of tendrils of magic slid across her body, tugging and stroking as solidly as flesh against flesh. It was gentler now, designed for pleasure rather than control. They had both broken too hard for anything more. Soothing brushes passed over her body, flicking lightly against nipples, belly and between her legs. Pressure on her clit drew a moan from her. He increased it, making the magic pulse against the delicate edge of her nub until she was sobbing now from need.

She was so frantic she didn't hear him move, but when she fell over the edge of her orgasm he was there, his lips on hers suddenly, swallowing her cries as his tongue invaded her mouth. His hands rose to cup her face as if she was the most precious thing he'd ever touched. The blindfold was soaked through with her tears and sweat. She took only cursory notice as she bucked against the magical bonds holding her in place. They gave with an almost audible snap and she launched herself at him blind. She was shocked further still when she met no resistance of cloth on his arms and chest and they toppled to the floor in a heap, mouths still fused together as if neither would ever let go.

She didn't need to see what she was doing to clamber on top of him, and she didn't care how he came to be half naked while tormenting her across the room. His cock was hard between them, throbbing in time to his pulse and she slid her hand to the laces of his breeches. He sprang into her hand and she wrapped it around him, shifting so she could impale herself at last. He groaned and finally broke away from her kiss. She heard his breath come hard and hissing through his teeth.

“Vhenan...”

She ground herself on him, driving him deeper still until their bellies were flush against one another. Her relief at the completion sent shivers up her spine and she drew up her hips just to do it again. He rose to meet her, a hard thrust with no artistry behind it. He rolled her under him, grappling with her hands until they were pinned next to her head. She wrapped her legs around him and lifted into each thrust, crying out in blissful joy each time he hit the sweetest part of her. His lips were on her throat now, his teeth nipping the tendons, tongue licking up her sweat. She was free to writhe and contort herself into him now and she did so, letting the sensation wash over her.

All at once the spiraling thing in her belly flew free and she came hard with a shout, her body shuddering around him as he cradled her. He followed her, spilled into her on a loud groan. She could feel it fill her and flow out onto her thighs by the time he stilled.

“You lied,” she said when she could speak again. “You said you would take no pleasure from me.”

His fingers brushed along her cheeks, hopelessly saturated from the wet blindfold. He hooked a finger under it and pulled it away. At some point he'd doused the lights in her chamber and there was only the firelight for her to blink against. He rested his forehead against hers.

“I'm sorry, vhenan. For all of my...”

“Shh,” she soothed, cupping his face with hands now freed. “Don't say it.” A fierce pain stabbed her chest, heartache, exhaustion and sadness in one. Fresh tears slipped from the corners of her eyes and he wiped them away with his thumbs. “I asked you to, remember?”

“I'm so sorry.”

“Don't go,” she said, before he could begin to ease his weight from her body. “Stay with me, please. One night, Solas. One last night.”

“I should not, but I....” His eyes closed and his face contorted as he wrestled with his own conscience. “It would be cruel to leave now, and I will not do that to you.”

He scooped her off the floor into his arms. He carried her to the bed and got in it with her. She nestled against him, let him brush back her tangled hair from her face. They should have bathed, should have taken the time to make sure the door was bolted and the fire fed, but she didn't care. She was too drained, physically and emotionally. She just wanted to sleep. The ravaging need was eased, for now. He eased it further with gentle strokes along her back and shoulders, a balm for her oversensitized nerves. Then he held her tight as the last tremors washed through her, leaving her blank and sated.

“Ar lath ma, Solas.”

“I know.”

“It doesn't change anything, does it?”

“No, it does not.” He sighed, and she could feel his body shudder with it. With the last of her consciousness, she heard him whisper. “Ar lath ma, vhenan. I always will.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is, as always, the lifeblood. I answer every comment. *mwuah*


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